


Interruptions

by WellReadPenguin



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellReadPenguin/pseuds/WellReadPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She finds his eyes again. An apology. For her job. For interruptions." - Castle and Beckett can't seem to escape life's interruptions THREE-SHOT</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: "Castle" and all its wonderful characters are the property of ABC and Andrew Marlowe. Much as I enjoy playing with them, I unfortunately do not own them. Please don't sue me.

She can see only him. In his red shirt and brown coat, two cups of coffee in his hands, scanning the room, for her.

Their eyes meet. Smokey green and deep blue. They stare. They pass words and thoughts non-verbally. Their language, the language of the eyes.

She didn't think he would come in this morning. Not after her outburst the night before. She'd snapped that she didn't want to hear about the stewardess anymore. Then the word vomit began. And she finally said what she felt – how hurt she was that he gave up on her, that he stopped waiting, that he hadn't bothered to warn her. He could have at least let her down easy.

She'd stared at him then, eyes wide, mouth agape – in shock – because the words spoken out loud sounded so needy, so desperate. And she hated that. She didn't want to need him.

But his face was shock as well. And confusion.

"You heard me though. And you lied. And you didn't want me," he says, dejected.

It was her turn to be confused. "I've always wanted you."

Then she turned and fled. Ran away like she usually did when faced with addressing the harsh truths of her personal life. When he didn't run after her she assumed that was it. She went home and downed half a bottle of wine, feeling pathetic, expecting to never see him again.

But he came. And their eyes are locked now. All the awkward she expected slips away and they see, together.

He hands her the coffee. They take a sip together, tentative and slow – more non-verbal communication. And she knows she's not making this up, because his eyes are on hers the whole time and they say so much.

She also knows that non-verbal only gets so far. Dr. Burke would be proud.

So she nods her head towards the interview room.

"Can we talk?"

She speaks first, because she's feeling bold, a feeling that comes in spurts. She doesn't want to lose it.

"Castle I-"

The door clicks open, but it might as well be a gun shot the way they both startle. No, not again.

"Hey Beckett, I've got Javier Gonzalez in interrogation." Ryan peaks his head in.

Beckett glares.

Their suspect. Right.

He recoils, glancing between the two of them nervously.

"Or it can wait-"

"No, I'll be there in a second," she snaps. She shouldn't be so harsh, but he's made a habit of interrupting important conversations. She's frustrated. There's always something in the way. The moment is never right. She's so damn frustrated.

She finds Castle's eyes again. An apology. For her job. For interruptions.

He nods. Later.

She hopes this time he means it.

But the bold is still there, simmering under the surface and it won't let her leave it all to the mercy of the universe. She's rolled that dice before. She knows it's weighted against her.

So she stops him when he turns to leave. She grips his arm tightly as though some force will pull him from her. And she lifts up on her toes to kiss him, laying claim to Later with something more concrete. Something more real. A new form of non-verbal communication.

She leaves him without another word, deliberately keeping her eyes forward, towards the interrogation room and her suspect.

But while she coaxes a confession out of him, she can't contain the upward tilt of her lips and the love sick expression she knows is all over her face.

Because he kissed her back, brought his hands to her face, held her there like he was afraid she'd slip away. He kissed her back and that said so much more than words.


	2. Chapter 2

Several months later...

She traces her fingers along the veins on the back of his hand lazily.

It still awes her the way something so simple can fill her with joy. The soft comfort of his body next to hers. The beating of his heart beneath her ear. The content silence. It wraps her in a warm and fuzzy blanket and she wonders why the prospect of this used to be so scary.

She's curled into his side, his arm slung over her shoulders as they watch a movie on his couch. He's intent upon the film, but she is too cozy in his arms to focus on the screen so she keys in on the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, the gentle friction of her loops and figure eights, the static of her caress.

He turns his hand over, laces their fingers together, and tears his eyes from the TV long enough to kiss her softly on the forehead.

She sighs. Lets the glow of that gesture settle over her. Until it sparks another sort of glow. And she feels that tickling from deep within. The sudden desire for more. For him.

She wriggles out of his arms and swings her leg around to straddle him, hands on his shoulders to get her balance. She brushes the fringe from his eyes and settles into his lap as she runs her fingers through his brown locks. She fits perfectly here. Just another sign that this is right. They are right. She's spent months discovering that every day. Spotting the little moments that were hidden before. The irrefutable evidence that there was never any need to doubt.

"You're going to miss the movie."

"Don't care, you're more interesting."

"More interesting than space cowboys? You jest, detective." He grins, toothy and content as he settles his hands on her hips. Their warmth already sinking through the fabric of her jeans.

"I was thinking..."

"You were thinking we should run off to the Bahamas together?"

She pauses.

"Yes."

He laughs, and she can't blame him for the honesty in it, because it sounds like a joke even to her ears.

But she's serious.

"I'm serious."

"Uh huh." He nods, running his hand up her side. Her skin buzzes beneath the cotton.

"Really," she stresses.

"And what will we do in the Bahamas, my dear?"

"Get married."

"What?" He chokes, stunned.

"Let's get married."

"No," he stammers. "No, no, no. No."

Her heart skips a beat, sitting on the edge of the cliff waiting to drop. What?

"No," he stresses. His eyes are defiant and serious. "You are not proposing to me right now."

Eyebrows furrowed, she gapes. The air leaves her lungs. "I-I-"

"That's the man's job, my job. And I will not stand for you usurping my birthright."

A silly grin blooms on her face, her heart pulled from the precipice by the brightness of his eyes and the reassuring smirk now resting on his lips.

"Birthright? It's the modern world, the woman can propose."

"No!" He shakes his head, teasingly poking at her ribs. "It has to be the man, and it has to be big. A grand gesture. Like the Yankee Stadium jumbotron or a thousand yellow daisies or a helicopter ride to the Statue of Liberty with fireworks shooting out of her crown and biplane circling with a giant banner that says Will You Marry Me? Something big."

"Uh huh," she nods sarcastically. "It couldn't be something romantic and simple like, you know, getting down on one knee or anything."

"Absolutely not...unless we were on the moon. Then one knee would be sufficiently big."

"You sure you want to build up my expectations so much?"

"Of course. It'll be epic, you'll see."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she says beaming, overcome by the swell of joy in her heart when she looks down at him and sees this moment repeated a thousand times over the course of a year, ten years, twenty-five years...forever.

"When is Alexis coming home?"

"Tomorrow morning," he rumbles, closing eyes as she runs her hands through his hair and massages his scalp.

"Perfect." She lowers her head to capture his mouth in a gentle kiss, thankful to whatever power in the universe that got them to this point. This point of uncomplicated. This point of together. Happy and together. Their future laid out before them. Grand gestures aside, it's the moments like this that she cherishes. The casual comfort of them is all she needs.

When she pulls away his eyes are smoldering. He leans forward with a growl, stealing his own kiss, more passionate, more demanding. She responds in turn, letting the fire grow unchecked, giving all she has to give. Because that's what they agreed – this can work if she gives what she has to give. And right now, with the promise of forever out there in the universe, no longer chained by indecision or misunderstanding, she has everything to give.

Her body hums as he kneads his hands up and down along the outside of her jeans. The occasional scratch of his nails tickles her arousal and she rolls her hips against him in response. Relishing the friction. The desire that compounds with every movement.

He groans.

"You drive me crazy," he murmurs when he finally tears his mouth from hers. She takes the opportunity to pepper kisses along his jaw, savoring the salt of his skin and the euphoria that bursts brighter with every throaty moan she elicits.

"Good," she breathes into his collar. She smirks, giddy with power, and rolls her hips again for good measure. But this time the gasp escapes from her mouth as the friction jolts her nerves with an electric spark.

Rick growls. He sneaks his hands under her white cotton shirt to get a touch of the bare skin of her back and midriff, which twitches as his fingers flutter past.

Kate leans back, her breath short, skin tingling, and helps him pull the shirt over her head, tossing it blindly over her shoulder. His lips are on her immediately. The heat of his tongue at her collar bone, the bite of his teeth as he nips at the skin, drives her wild. Her heart rattles around in her chest, frenzied by her desire.

Their motions become more frantic as his fingers work doggedly at unhooking the clasp of her bra.

It comes undone with a triumphant snap.

And the door swings open with a resounding bang.

They freeze. Rick's mouth at the swell of her breast, her hands threaded in his hair. And she watches in horror as Alexis, propping the door open with her foot, hauls her bags past the threshold and looks up with a little smile on her face.

And then she sees them. And the smile morphs into an expression Kate is fairly certain mimics her own.

They share an "eep!" before Kate flings herself off of Rick, falling behind the barricade of the couch. Mortified.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry!" Alexis turns and buries her head in her hands.

"Alexis! You're home!"

"Dad!" She answers, back turned to their scramble to right themselves. But Kate can't find her shirt and her bra refuses to lock and she wishes she could melt into the couch and disappear. Of course they would be interrupted by his teenage daughter. Of course. Because the universe clearly still has a sick sense of humor.

"Oh god, I uh- I decided to- oh god, I decided to come early. And- was gonna surprise you. But-"

"Uh, happy you're here hon."

"You know, I'm just- I'll go put my stuff away and- yeah." She keeps her eyes averted, grabs her suitcase and back pack and scurries up the stairs.

Kate, who had located her shirt draped over the coffee table and managed to reach across the couch for it during Alexis' exit, flops back and covers her face with the soft cotton.

She groans. He chuckles.

"Hey! Don't laugh. This is mortifying."

"She's a big girl. She'll get over it."

Cheeks flushed, she drops the shirt to her lap and gapes at him.

"I'm a big girl and I won't get over it!"

He stands, still chuckling somehow. Of course he finds this amusing.

Grabbing her hands unbidden, he hoists her off of the couch, whatever embarrassment he feels, if any, hidden by a smirk.

"Come on, let's go say hi to my lovely, terribly-timed daughter."

She throws the shirt over her head, pulling it down with a huff.

"That's it, I'm instituting a locked-door policy."

"She has a key, Kate."

"Then we need to invest in a Do Not Disturb sign."

He wraps his arms around her. A soothing hug to calm the nerves and adrenaline still coursing through her veins. It helps, but not as much as his next statement:

"Come on Mrs. Castle. Your future step-daughter awaits."

Because embarrassment is nothing compared to the bliss of that image.


	3. Chapter 3

She slips her key into the lock and turns slowly, hoping to limit the sound of her entrance. It's late, very late, and the loft is immersed in shadow and silence. She tiptoes into the hall and lightly drops her keys into the bowl on the table just beside the door. There's no point in turning on the lights. She knows how to navigate in the dark without trouble because she's done this dance more times than she can count.

A part of her wishes she hadn't. That she'd lumber around with inexperience as she came home from a late night at work, muddled by the abnormality of the loft cast in darkness. But she's not. This is practiced, routine, something she's long grown used to. Though only now does she resent it in a way she never had before.

Her shoes come off at the door so the heels don't clank against the solid wood. Her coat goes in the hall closet, which she closes deliberately slow, minimizing the clicking of the mechanisms within the knob. She tiptoes barefoot past the kitchen, careful to avoid the chair which someone always seems to leave untucked from the table. And she makes her way up the stairs with agile steps.

The bedroom is darker than the rest of the apartment, shuttered in for the night, but she can just make out his form tangled in the lilac sheets.

He's breathing softly, his hair tousled, limbs splayed out across the bed. Ruggedly handsome as ever. Maybe more so now, the gray at his temples lending character to his features.

She sheds her work clothes and pulls on one of his oversized t-shirts. Climbing into bed, she takes care not to jostle the mattress too much as she slips under the covers and slides towards his warmth.

"Mmm, you're home," he mumbles, lifting his head to look at her through half-closed eyes. So much for not waking him. "Did you catch the bad guys?"

"Of course," she whispers. "Now go back to sleep. It's late."

"Too late, I'm awake," he says, very clearly not awake, and turns on his side, pulling her close to spoon into the curve of his body.

"What kept you?"

"Suspect put up a fight, had to file a report." She rests her head on his bicep and wriggles to get comfortable.

"You okay?"

"'Course, took him down easy enough."

"God, you are sexy."

"I even got to use my handcuffs," she teases, nipping his arm with her teeth.

"So hot," he murmurs before burying his head in her hair and inhaling. She misses this. Laying in his arms, being enveloped by his body, just being still. Together without the rush of daily life tugging them left and right. It's been too long since they slowed down, since she's felt her heart beat in time with his. She longs to rekindle that connection, the spark that got dimmed by distractions and obligations.

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

"Then show me."

He pulls her hair from her shoulder and feathers a kiss on her neck. The whisper of his breath against her skin sends a shiver down her spine.

"Bossy tonight."

She nods, cheeky grin and all, as she turns her body to face his.

"What happened to 'go back to sleep'?"

"Sleep is overrated."

Her tongue darts out in a taunt, so he goes chasing after it with his mouth, locking her in a war of lips and teeth and tongue.

He settles above her, the weight of his body a welcome pressure with her legs hooked around his waist.

She slides her fingers along his back, scratching her nails in a figure eight under his shirt, bunching it up under his shoulders. But he still has her pinned and shows no sign cooperating with her plans to divest him because he seems more intent on sampling the skin of her throat where the neck of her oversized shirt allows him access. He runs his palm up the length of her bare thigh leaving goosebumps in its wake and she feels the stress of the day scrubbed away with his touch.

When he grinds into her she can't help the whimper that escapes and she pulls his face back up to hers so she can have something to do other than paw at him urgently.

Her ears perk up at the padding of feet in the hallway.

"Mommy?" A voice asks tentatively from the doorway to their bedroom.

"Fuck," he grunts for only her to hear as he stills and rolls away.

She takes a ragged breath, pushing the hair back from her face as she attempts to do the same to the clawing arousal still stirring in her core. After a beat, she sits up cross-legged to acknowledge the timid little girl peeking her head through the door, which she'd carelessly left open.

"Hey baby, come here," she coaxes, patting the bed beside her.

The five-year old scurries forward with a sleepy smile, hops onto the mattress and throws herself into her mother's arms.

"I missed you mommy."

"Oh Jo-Jo I missed you too." She hugs her tight, brushing her fingers through the girl's soft, chocolate brown hair.

"Daddy, mommy's home." Kate's heart breaks a little. Because she should have been home to tuck her into bed. Her daughter shouldn't have to miss her.

"I told you she would be sweetheart," Rick says, now sitting up next to them.

"I had a bad dream."

"I'm sorry baby, how can I make it better?" She hugs her just a bit tighter and rubs her back in circles to soothe the tension.

"Make Daddy tell a joke," she says, voice muffled by the fact that her face is still firmly mashed against her mother's shirt.

Kate rolls her eyes. As if he needs permission to tell jokes – usually bad ones. But she plays along, shaking her head in amusement.

"Alright Daddy, tell girly a joke."

Rick regards her with a sly smile.

"Okay then, knock knock."

Jo squirms with delight and removes herself from Kate's embrace just enough to peek out and answer, "Who's there?"

"Interrupting cow."

"Interrupting cow wh-"

"MOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Rick blares while he reaches out to tickle his already giggling daughter. She shrieks and clings to Kate for support, her wild convulsing toppling them both back against the pillows.

As Jo's joyous laughter fills the room, Kate's joins her, until the entire family melts into a cackling mass of limbs. All thoughts of nightmares and late nights at the precinct banished by a soaring cheer.

When they recover enough to breath, Rick catches her eye and winks.

"Again! Again! Again!" Jo bounces between them.

He smirks and lifts his eyebrow. Permission?

"If you must," she replies, her face flushed with delight at the effortless glee of their little girl.

"Alright, knock knock..."

And as her daughter dissolves into another round of uncontrollable giggling, Kate muses on interruptions.

Maybe they aren't so bad after all.


End file.
